


Lim(b)o Sex

by Nevcolleil



Category: Chuck (TV), White Collar
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 17:42:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1193931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevcolleil/pseuds/Nevcolleil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sex is a game. At least, sex with Chuck sure feels like playing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lim(b)o Sex

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompts 'games', 'trust' and 'undercover'.

Sex is a game. Most experienced members of Neal's select profession would say this. It's a tool, it's a weapon, and it's a game.

It certainly feels like playing when Neal beats Chuck to the limo and goes to work.

He has his tuxedo pants unbuttoned before he gets the door closed. Before stretching out on the seat furthest from the door, he pushes them off his hips and lets them pool around his ankles with his shorts.

By the time he opens the limo door and crawls in after Neal, Chuck has quite the sight waiting for him.

Neal, the little light of his anklet blinking up from the pile of clothing at his feet, is spread out and waiting. His arms are stretched across the back of the limo seat. His knees are spread as wide as his almost-shucked clothing will allow. His cock juts up, hard and proud, between his thighs. Neal's unbuttoned tuxedo shirt gapes open, exposing his naked chest, while his bowtie hangs, undone, around his neck.

"Oh my god..." Chuck's breathless response is as flattering as the way he fumbles the limo door shut behind him.

Chuck stares at Neal like he's sex itself, and as he watches Chuck swallow thickly, Neal feels as sexy as Chuck's dilated pupils suggest.

"See something you like, Mr. Carmichael?" Neal teases.

"E-everything..."

Chuck's tongue-tied, boyish enthusiasm isn't to Neal's usual taste when it comes to male lovers, but perhaps only because he's never met a man as genuine and as genuinely _good_ as Chuck. Chuck grins, like a kid whose been offered candy, and Neal's heart does a thing only his dick should be doing, considering all the things he doesn't know about Chuck or doesn't understand.

Chuck's hands on Neal's knees, luckily, put Neal's dick back at the forefront of his thoughts, and so Neal can pretend that his rabbiting pulse has more to do with anticipation than with anything else.

"Uh, uh, uh..." Neal stops Chuck, by the shoulders, all the same. Before Chuck can lean in towards Neal's lap, as he'd been about to do, Neal says, "You're overdressed, Chuck. No touching until you fix it."

Tonight, Neal's _done_ thinking and overthinking this thing he's stumbled into with Chuck.

Whatever else he may have done, Chuck's held nothing of himself back during sex, Neal can tell. That night in Neal's penthouse, Chuck let Neal do anything he wanted.

Neal's determined to return the favor. 

"Right. Right..." Chuck doesn't even bother to pretend that he's the suave, worldly playboy that people are somehow apparently supposed to believe him to be.

He starts tugging at his clothing with two hands, and Neal can't help the happy laughter that tilts his head back and leaves his lips. Nevermind, that a sickeningly expensive tuxedo is being manhandled so roughly (if it never lives to see another gala, it will have lived a full life; the way it had fit Chuck's broad shoulders and long legs was exceptional.)

"Slow down, Chuck. I'm not going anywhere."

"You're so hard you're _wet_ ," Chuck says, eyes glancing over the gleaming tip of Neal's erection. "And you're asking me to slow down?"

Chuck's shirt comes off before his bowtie's even untied, and Neal's mouth goes a little dry. The muscles in Chuck's chest and stomach move as he twists to strip while on his knees on the limo floor.

"I'm saying you probably don't want to have to walk out of this limo naked when we get done because you tore your tux into pieces."

"I'm pretty sure at least three security cameras have caught us making out tonight," Chuck says without thinking, focused on the fastenings of his pants. "I don't think anyone will be surprised."

How Chuck knows there were security cameras in the stairwells he and Neal ducked into - not to mention that supply closet - is one of those things Neal doesn't understand and assumes he isn't supposed to ask about. Brinkerhoff purposefully hid all of the cameras he installed in the complex. Neal only knows about them because he had Mozzie hack into Brinkerhoff's network and get him the blueprints.

"Come here."

Neal distracts himself from the mystery by reaching forward and tugging Chuck to him by his still not-quite deconstructed tie. Neal tugs it loose and uses it like a handle to drag Chuck into a kiss. Chuck moans against his mouth and Neal lets the tie go to slip a hand down the front of Chuck's unfastened pants to keep the moans coming.

"Oh, Neal," Chuck says instead, with Neal's fingertips teasing the head of his cock. "Oh-"

Chuck doesn't play with Neal himself. He wraps a hand directly around Neal and his grip draws a sound out of Neal that Neal wasn't actually aware he makes.

Chuck scoots forward on his knees until he's between Neal's legs, as if Neal would try to close them on him and he wants to keep Neal open. 

And then Chuck swoops down and swallows him.

"Oh, god..." it's Neal's turn to say. His head falls back against the limo seat and he thinks his vision blurs at the sudden intense warmth and pressure that envelopes him in Chuck's mouth. 

"Let me... Neal, just let me," Chuck says into the crease where Neal's thigh joins his body, and Neal can't even remember what Chuck's asking permission for. Chuck sucks at the insides of Neal's thighs, of his balls, before going back to sucking his dick, and Neal can only says, "Yes... yes, Chuck, don't stop..."

He's the one to take Chuck's hand, where Chuck is idly kneading his sack, and pushes it lower. Chuck gasps around his cock and he sees the way Chuck shudders in the flex of his shoulders. 

If Casey knew Neal and Chuck had hidden a bottle of lube in this limo, he'd likely refuse to ever ride in it again. But that possibility seems worth it when Neal is all slicked up and Chuck is gingerly pushing into him.

Neal's been told, by many people, that he is beautiful; whether it's an insult or a compliment, he knows that he is. But Chuck may be the one person who has ever, consistently made Neal feel beautiful during sex.

Every time Chuck touches Neal, it's almost reverent. His lips curl at the ends with the softest of smiles, like he's trying not to make a big deal out of just how happy he is. 

Chuck doesn't look at at Neal, as he makes love to him, like he's playing at all. And - god help him - as Neal looks back, he lets himself believe.

"I love- this..." Chuck stutters, swallowing thickly as he speeds up. "Neal..."

Neal's hips rock with every thrust, thrusting back. They stutter with Chuck's words, but he holds onto the limo seat and sucks Chuck's lips into a frantic kiss.

"Me, too... " He doesn't deny it. "Chuck-"

Neal comes first - with a cry; Chuck buries his face under Neal's neck and moans as he follows.

Even if all this is just playing... as Chuck plants dozens of tiny kisses up Neal's throat and over his face in the aftermath, Neal's pretty certain that neither of them is losing.


End file.
